Put The Shot Gun Down!
by Lily-of-Asgard
Summary: What happens when a young, Oklahoma native leaves home after the world goes to pot? Annabell Downing has to learn quick how to survive in Daryl Dixon's territory, as long as they kill one another first. OCxDaryl, MichonnexRick. Rated M for language, adult situation, and eventual smut.
1. Chapter 1

Put The Shot Gun Down! It was almost four in the afternoon, the Georgia sun hot on my neck and shoulders as I walked the perimeter at my "fortress". Honestly, it was just a little shack in the middle of nowhere but it would work for tonight. There wasn't a single sound out in these trees, an eerie silence that I'm no longer used to in these fucked up days. Holding my Bowie knife tight, I continued on. Georgia is gorgeous, even after the end of the world as we once knew it. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the hell Oklahoma became. Too many guns backed with big egos for that place to survive long. I'm not entirely sure how I made to the Peach state but it was good enough for me. I had to keep wiping the sweat beading up on my fore head with the back of my hand. I haven't been stuck in such intense heat for years. During my pause for water, I heard twigs snap out to the left of me. I pulled my bottle away from my lips and listened carefully. There were footsteps, quiet but definitely there. My defenses rose, trying to keep my head clear while I took the shotgun off my back, checking to see if it was loaded. Thankfully, it was. I heard more twigs snap even closer to me causing me to turn back with my gun pointing up, ready to blow somebody away. It was then, I realized I was looking at the wrong end of a crossbow. "Fuck..." 


	2. Chapter 2

"I would advise you to put your weapon down before you end up with big ol' hole in your chest." I tried so hard to keep my voice from trembling. I hate to say that  
it's a pretty hard task when you have the sharp end of an arrow pointing right at your face.  
"I'd advise you to do the same, girl."  
A thick southern accent throws me to the wind. It was definitely not that Hotlanta City-folk accent that I heard when I first came into the state. This was more of  
a back-country drawl that my big brother always warned me to associate with rebel flags and banjo playing. I definitely did not want to get on this guys bad side  
for sure. I froze, keeping my gun pointed right at him.  
"Put the gun down!"  
Another one? Seriously? How many people have found my little hide out? At least this guy doesn't sound like a hillbilly reject. I looked around the barrel of my  
gun to see who else had come onto my territory.  
"You're out numbered and out gunned. I suggest you just put it down before anyone gets hurt."  
Alright. I guess he thinks he is the voice of reason.  
"Only if your boy puts that damned cross bow down." I tell them. I'm still gonna stand my ground. It was my damn house... for the night at least.  
"Daryl..." The other guy calls out and I watched in relief as the weapon got lowered. To my word, my shot gun returns to the spot down at my side. That was when I  
finally got a good look at the two. Both of them were pretty scruffy but hell, so was I.  
"Who are y'all?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. Just because the weapons were no longer drawn doesn't mean I have to lighten up on these guys.  
"We could ask the same question." Daryl said. Boy, did Mr. Hick have an attitude.  
"Seeing as this is my holding you're trespassing on, I think I'mma ask the questions, ok?"  
"I'm Rick." The other guy said. He did not seem too bad. He definitely was not a complete ass like his buddy was upon first meetings. "And this is Daryl. We were  
just on a supply run when we found your place." He explained.  
"Is it just the two of you?" I asked while I continued to stare them down.  
"Is it just the one of you?" There he goes again with that damnable attitude. I look straight at Daryl and shift my weight to one leg. That was a tell-tale sign  
that I was starting to loose my patience.  
"What do you think, bumpkin?"  
His eyes widened. I think I may have pissed him off.  
"What you just call me?" I watched him advance towards me but Rick stopped him before he could get to close.  
"We're with a group..." He tells me while he holds back his backwoods buddy. "You?"  
"I'm all that's left." I don't know why but it was pretty easy to talk to Rick. He was not as abrasive as Daryl was.  
"How long have you been holding up here?" Rick questioned while Daryl pulled away from his grip.  
"I just found it this afternoon. I've been hiking up along that highway up the trail for about a week now." I explained.  
"What happened to the people you were with before?" I know I said abrasive before but I think the right word to explain Daryl's manner of communication is just  
plain rude.  
"They got ate." I told him very bluntly.  
"And you didn't?" He crossed his arms very similarly to the way I had mine done.  
"I was on a supply run. Came back and they were coming after my flesh. I had to take what I had and go."  
Rick nodded.  
"So y'all have a nice set up or still lookin?" I watched as they looked at each other, exchanging silent words before addressing me again. By the look on Daryl's  
face, he was not happy about the thoughts transpiring.  
"C'mon man. That's another mouth to feed."  
"It's another able-bodied person." Silence ensued for just a moment more before Rick turned to me.  
"I gotta ask... How many walkers have you killed?"


End file.
